


Sanguis Inprecatio

by LadyWallace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale, Body Horror, Crowley Whump, Friendship, Gen, Hastur is nasty, Hurt/Comfort, caring Aziraphale, curses and punishment, gen - Freeform, post-Armagedidn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: Crowley suffers Hell's wrath with a terrible curse that is only reserved for the most disobedient demons—like ones who fraternize with angels and stop the Apocalypse. Aziraphale is prepared to show off his righteous fury to help his friend, but will Crowley be whole after the ordeal?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 120





	Sanguis Inprecatio

**Author's Note:**

> Fic for Krvant! I hope you like what I did with this prompt :)
> 
> Warning: Some body horror involving bug-like creatures, so if you don't like that, you might want to skip this one (or skip the second section break)

The last time Aziraphale had been in Hell, it had been for his—or rather _Crowley's_ execution—and he couldn't say that he liked it any better now even if he wasn't a prisoner.

Of course, he might as well be at this point. One wrong move and he probably wouldn't be making it back. And he couldn't allow that. If he didn't find out how to help Crowley, his dear friend would die.

And Aziraphale was not about to let that happen.

So he straightened his shoulders, clutched his sword in his hand, and strode forward into the depths of Hell, looking for the demon responsible.

~~~~~~~

_Before_

They grabbed hold of Crowley before he even woke fully. The demon started and lashed out, but a hand was shoved over his mouth, muffling him so he couldn't draw attention from anyone in the other apartments.

"Hush, hush, Crawley," Hastur's sibilant voice hissed through the dark before a light was flicked on and he could see the demon himself as well as two others who were currently holding Crowley down. Hastur loomed over him, a wicked, all-too-pleased grin on his face. "Save your screams—you'll be needing them soon."

Crowley still struggled, but he was held tight, helpless against what Hastur was about to do to him. Which he couldn't even fathom to think about. Were they finally dragging him back to Hell? Had they figured out his and Aziraphale's ruse? Could the angel be in danger too?

All these thoughts flew through his head as Hastur reached into his dirty coat and pulled out a small bottle with something inside. Crowley frowned, not able to recognize what it was at first, but from the way Hastur was grinning at it, he was sure he wasn't going to like it very much.

"Are you familiar with the Sanguis Inprecatio, Crowley?" the demon asked.

Crowley felt his stomach drop. That…yes, he was familiar with it. It was essentially a curse, or, something of the sort, created by a demon long ago as an execution method for demons who were particularly out of line. It hadn't been used it years, and most of the demons, Crowley included, thought it was just an urban legend, really, but if it wasn't then…

"I see you do know," Hastur said with a chuckle, holding the bottle up to eye level and tapping on it. "Good. The anticipation will only make this worse for you." Whatever was inside _moved_. Crowley swallowed hard.

"You can't be serious," he growled as the hand was removed from his mouth, probably to hear him plead and beg. "That's not even real. You're a terrible bluffer, Hastur."

He was, which was why Crowley was sweating bullets right now.

Hastur grinned with all the confidence of a man with the upper hand. "Oh, Crowley, you know I'm not. See, I'm still not convinced you didn't pull some trick, probably with the help of that pigeon. I think holy water will hurt you just fine and even if that isn't the case and you're somehow immune to it, this little bugger will still kill you—your death will just be a lot slower. Either works for me, as long as you get what you have coming."

Crowley struggled harder as Hastur brought the bottle closer to him and the demons holding him ripped open his pajama top, buttons flying everywhere.

"Don't," Crowley pleaded, despite his desire not to, his terror taking over his rational senses. "It's all over, isn't it? Why are you bothering; can't you just leave me alone? Don't do this, please, Hastur—even for you this is particularly nasty!"

"You threw Holy Water on Ligur, and yet you're squeamish," Hastur said, voice dark, and Crowley could hear the vengeance in it, knowing suddenly that he was not going to get out of this, and therefor probably not going to survive it. He had already faced certain death once at the End of All Things and then the Horseman Death himself, but though he had escaped permanent discorperation then, he was pretty bloody sure he wasn't going to be so lucky now.

The end of the world was looking better all the time. As Hastur opened the top of the bottle, he almost wished it had happened.

"Come on, then," Hastur almost cooed at the thing in the jar. As it got closer, Crowley could see that it was something like a bug, long and plated, but he knew this was just the form the curse took, telling how sadistic the demon who had created it had been. What it did was much worse.

"Don't let it bite you, Duke Hastur," one of the other demons warned, already looking skittish. "Even one bite could take your hand!"

"On the contrary," Hastur grinned. "This little fellow knows a traitor when he sees it. And there's only one of those here."

He tipped the bottle over and Crowley screamed as the cursed bug fell out onto his bare chest. He bucked, sending it flying off onto the bed for a second before it scrabbled toward him again, and the grip from the demons made it so that he couldn't escape it. Crowley could only watch with wide, horrified eyes as the thing came toward him, touching his bare skin with its hooked claws and then punctured his side. Crowley howled, the pain agonizing, but it didn't stop there.

He thrashed and fought as the bug clawed its way into his flesh. Crowley only barely realized that the demons had released him and he frantically scrabbled at his side, just as the thing disappeared into the bleeding wound.

"Gaahhh!" he screamed, wrapping his arms around himself as he could feel it crawling inside of him, the trail it made burning. Then he felt it make its way to his stomach.

The agony was immense. Crowley rolled onto his side, hanging over the bed as he choked and retched up a mouthful of blood. But there was more than just blood. Something burned like acid up his esophagus, and, in his terror, Crowley remembered just _how_ the Sanguis Inprecatio was supposed to kill you.

It could create holy water out of a body's nutrients so not only would Crowley waste away, but he would do so in the most painful and agonizing way possible.

He collapsed back on the bed, gasping for breath as sweat beaded across his body. He weakly reached out for Hastur. "Has—tur…please. An'thing but….this…"

But the Duke of Hell just smirked, seeming to be enjoying this all too much. "You are a fool to think I would help you, Crowley. In my opinion, you're getting just what you deserve. I'm only sorry I can't stay to witness more of your suffering. Just know I'll cherish the memory of your screams forever."

Crowley gurgled as Hastur and the other demons retreated from his room, laughing.

Crowley panted in agony as he hauled himself toward the bedside table, tears of pain streaming down his face as he grabbed for the phone there. He nearly dropped it off the side of the bed, but he somehow managed to grab it, and hit the speed dial for Aziraphale.

It rang several times, each second feeling like an eternity to Crowley, before it was picked up.

"Yes, Crowley? It's quite late, dear, what do you need?" the angel's voice came across the line.

"H-help," Crowley croaked before he felt the urge to vomit again. He dropped the phone and hung his head over the side of the bed as another wave of agony tore through him. He completely missed Aziraphale's promise that he would be there as soon as possible, but it didn't matter.

He knew the angel would be there anyway. He just wasn't sure what his presence was going to do.

~~~~~~~

_Aziraphale had been on_ earth a long time and had incidentally seen many horrible things, but even with that being said, he would never forget the sight that met him when he burst into Crowley's apartment, sword held at the ready, expecting to have to rescue his friend from attacking demons, or even angels.

It was a terrible feeling to realize you had gotten there after the attack had happened and by that point, there was nothing much to do but pick up the pieces.

Aziraphale wouldn't even have been sure Crowley was still alive, if it hadn't been for the labored breathing and groans. All he saw was Crowley curled in the middle of his bed and blood on the floor and covers.

"Crowley! Oh, dear boy…" Aziraphale felt his heart in his throat as he rushed over and gently took Crowley's shoulder. "What happened?"

Crowley's eyes opened, wet with tears of pain, but relieved when he saw Aziraphale. He reached out and grabbed the angel's coat firmly. "H-Hastur," he croaked, his throat sounding flayed.

Of course it was that demonic bastard, Aziraphale thought furiously as he sat carefully on the bed and started to look Crowley over. "What did he do, Crowley?" he asked gently. He was honestly surprised to find Crowley here, alive. Why hadn't Hastur thought to drag Crowley back to Hell if he had gone to all the trouble of finding him here?

He peeled the fabric of Crowley's torn pajama top away from his side where it was sticky with blood and saw a hole right under his ribs. It was still bleeding, but the strange thing about the wound was that it looked like some sort of acid had been used because the edges of the wound appeared to be burned.

A terrible feeling wormed its way into Aziraphale's gut as he saw it. "Crowley, he didn't use holy water on you, did he?"

Crowley let out a whimper, burying his face in the bed. "N-no… S-Sanguis… Inprecatio…"

The hoarse reply took Aziraphale aback. "Sanguis Inprecatio? He demanded, not sure he had heard the demon correctly. "But…but I thought…"

Crowley gave a sharp cry and scrabbled at the bed, trying to get to the edge, already gagging. Aziraphale hurriedly grabbed him to help and wrapped his arms firmly around Crowley's chest, holding him up as he vomited blood and holy water. The hiss of it mixing with his blood on the floor was horrific, as were the tears slipping down Crowley's cheeks and the strangled cry caught in his throat.

"P-please ge-get it out," he gasped, his plea ending in a whimper.

Aziraphale stroked his back soothingly. "We will, we will, dear," he promised. Though he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to do that just yet.

Aziraphale settled him gently back on the bed. "Hold on, dear, I'll be back."

He hurriedly went to fetch a trash can, and some cloths, then came back and carefully wiped the blood from Crowley's lips, noticing with horror that they were already affected by the holy water, looking burned. He didn't want to know how bad the inside of Crowley's mouth and throat were.

He cleaned up the mess and took away the soiled blankets, then as Crowley lay limply in the bed, he cleaned his wound out and bandaged it before helping Crowley into a clean shirt.

The whole time he was worried. He knew very little about the Sanguis Inprecatio except that it was some sort of punishment curse specifically for demons who betrayed Hell. Of course it would be Hastur that would dig something like that up and use it against Crowley. He didn't know how long it took to do its deed, but considering its method of execution, Aziraphale thought with sickening realization, that they didn't have long.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked gently as he wiped some of the sweat from the demon's brow. "Is there…is there anything that can be done for this? A counter spell, antidote?"

Crowley's eyes blinked slowly open. "H-Hastur…would…have it," he rasped, hand reaching up to clutch his throat.

Aziraphale shushed him. "Then I'll just have to get it from him," he said with determination.

Crowley's eyes widened and he shook his head. "You have…books," he croaked. "Look at them."

"Shush, dear, don't hurt yourself," Aziraphale chided, stroking Crowley's hair away from his face. "But you're right. I may be able to make an antidote myself. Just stay here for a moment, I'll be back as quickly as possible."

Aziraphale hurried out of Crowley's flat and to the bookshop, indeed, as quickly as he could, taking the demon's Bentley to aid in his speed. He grabbed every book he had that might have what he was looking for, all the time fighting back the sting in his eyes as he thought of his friend lying back there in the most terrible agony. It wasn't time for tears now, though, he had to be strong if he was going to help Crowley.

He still felt some relief though when he saw that Crowley was in the same position as when he left him and unloaded his armful of books on the side table before he pulled a chair over to the side of the bed.

"There we go, I'm back now, dear. Let's see what we can find."

The next few hours were agony. Crowley could barely breathe and no matter what he tried to do, he couldn't avoid the occasional vomiting that only tore up his insides further. He tried giving Crowley milk to counteract the holy water, but it did little good and the act of swallowing in itself seemed to be just as painful as anything else.

What was worse was that Crowley seemed to visibly be wasting away. Aziraphale knew the mechanics of the Sanguis Inprecatio though he wished he didn't. He knew that it turned the demon's body against him, turning every nutrient into holy water so that essentially the demon in question was killed by his own body. It was a terrible way to die.

Aziraphale flipped through all the books and then did so again and again, but there was still nothing there to be found. On the third time flipping through them, he finally knew he had to face the inevitable.

He wasn't going to find the antidote in any books.

He glanced over at Crowley, sleeping restlessly, delirious with pain and fever. His face was so gaunt and pale that he looked practically like a skeleton. If Aziraphale couldn't find the antidote in a book, then he was going to have to find it somewhere else and he knew exactly where.

Putting aside his book with determination, he stood and bent to stroke Crowley's lank hair away from his face. "I'll be back. I promise. Just hang in there until then—promise me you will. After I get back, it will all be… tickety-boo."

He got no reply except the raspy, pained breaths passing through Crowley's parted lips. Aziraphale tugged a blanket over him and then turned, forcing himself to walk away, grabbing his sword on the way out of the room.

~~~~~~~

_Now_

Aziraphale found Hastur lurking deep in the depths of Hell. He was not expecting an angel to walk in.

"What…what the Heaven are you doing here?" the demon demanded, shocked, furious, and maybe a little scared.

"I've come for the antidote to the Sanguis Inprecatio," Aziraphale said firmly, holding his sword casually at his side but ready for anything.

Hastur snorted and then sneered. "Is that so? You mean the little snake isn't dead yet?"

"No, but you will be if you don't give me what I came for," Aziraphale said firmly and pulled a bottle out of his coat, holding it up. "This is holy water, and if you don't believe me…" He tipped it over and a few drops fell out onto the floor, hissing at their contact with the infernal ground. Hastur instinctively stepped back.

Aziraphale stood casually to one side and watched him carefully. "So, I think we have an understanding. What do you value more? Your life or revenge?"

Hastur cowered as Aziraphale stood there coolly with his sword and holy water, halo glowing so brightly the demon shielded his eyes.

He wasn't going to take no for an answer.

~~~~~~~

_Aziraphale cradled the bottle_ with the antidote carefully in the pocket of his coat as he made his way back to the surface, thankfully without detection. After that it was the fastest drive he'd ever taken without Crowley at the wheel back to the demon's flat.

"Crowley, dear, I'm back," he called as he entered the dim room. "I got the antidote."

Crowley didn't indicate that he'd heard him. Swallowing his fear, Aziraphale hurried over, setting the antidote on the bedside table before turning to his friend.

Crowley was deathly white, but he was still clinging to life. His whole mouth had been ravaged by the holy water, and there was blood on the bed beside him since he must have been too weak to reach for the trash can to vomit into.

But he was also still alive, every breath gaining a weak whimper from him.

"Oh, my dear boy," Aziraphale whispered in horror, tears coming to his own eyes as he saw the pain his friend was in. He sat on the side of the bed, and gently maneuvered Crowley up. The demon moaned and flailed weakly at him before his eyes opened partially and he saw it was Aziraphale.

"I'm back, dear, I got it," Aziraphale said with a smile, rubbing his shoulder gently. "All you have to do is drink it and this will be over."

Crowley whimpered, unable to make any other sound, and Aziraphale reached for the bottle, popping the cork out with his teeth before he raised Crowley's head, propping it in the crook of his arm. He pressed the bottle to Crowley's lips and even that action seemed to cause unbearable agony as Crowley shied away.

"You have to drink it, Crowley," Aziraphale said gently. "I know it's going to hurt, but it will be better afterward." He hoped. He wasn't sure how this worked. He didn't think it would reverse the damage, but at least if it was stopped, then Crowley could start healing.

He dribbled some of the liquid between Crowley's lips, and the demon's throat convulsed, as he groaned loudly, the precious antidote dribbling from his mouth.

"No, Crowley," Aziraphale pleaded. "You have to drink it and swallow! Please. For me!"

Crowley whimpered hoarsely, and Aziraphale tried again, this time getting the liquid into the demon's mouth and watching anxiously as Crowley swallowed it down, moaning the entire time, and twitching in Aziraphale's arms.

Aziraphale felt tears streaking down his face to match Crowley's, horrified at the pure agony that his friend was suffering from. He held him closely, unable to do anything else. But he had gotten Crowley to drink the antidote, and that was all that he could do. Now he just hoped that it would work. He didn't know how long he had to wait to find out.

It didn't take long. Crowley suddenly seized in his arms, and let out a strangled cry. Aziraphale clutched him tightly, until Crowley started flailing so much he was forced to put him down on the bed. The demon thrashed, keening, as his hands scrabbled at his stomach and the bandage on his side.

Sudden realization struck Aziraphale and he hurriedly tore the bandage off, just in time to see the disgusting Sanguis Inprecatio in the form of a bug, squeeze out of the wound, looking like it was about to make a break for it.

"Oh, no you don't," Aziraphale growled and grabbed his sword from where it rested beside the bed. He swatted the bug into the air and then cleaved it in two. It exploded with a hiss and disappeared.

Aziraphale rushed back to Crowley who was wheezing and extremely pale. Aziraphale shushed him. "There, it's over now, dear, just rest and recover."

He cleaned Crowley up and bandaged his side before tucking him into the bed after applying fresh sheets.

Aziraphale then climbed into the bed as well, sitting against the headboard, and gathered Crowley to him, resting his chin on top of Crowley's head. The demon huddled against him, trembling from the shock and pain, and Aziraphale rocked him gently to sleep, his residual tears sliding into Crowley's hair.

_~~~~~~~_

_He stayed by Crowley's side_ almost constantly the next few days, and the recovery was not easy. The first few days, Crowley simply went between restless sleeping and small bouts of consciousness where he was in so much pain, Aziraphale wished he would fall asleep again.

It was a long recovery. Crowley couldn't swallow or talk at all for days, and then Aziraphale firmly kept him from talking so his throat would fully heal. He had tried healing the internal damage, but hadn't been able to. It had been a stretch anyway. But Aziraphale didn't leave him, bringing Crowley anything that could soothe his throat even a little bit.

Nearly two weeks passed, and though he was still weak, Crowley began to get cabin fever, even worse because he couldn't talk. Aziraphale still cared for him devotedly, and allowed him to write on a pad of paper, but it still frustrated the demon so much that Aziraphale was afraid it might cause his recovery to suffer.

So, inspired by what he had seen humans do for each other when they were ill or in the hospital, Aziraphale went to find Crowley a gift that could cheer him up.

He was personally quite pleased with his choice as he carried the oversized items up the stairs to Crowley's flat.

"Crowley, I'm back! I'll be up in just a second!" He cried, fumbling with his gifts as he made his way into the demon's bedroom.

Crowley was propped up in bed, watching the television Aziraphale had brought into the bedroom, when he saw the angel come through the door with his burden.

Crowley's eyes widened as Aziraphale entered with a grin and plopped the gifts down on the bed.

"I thought you needed something cheerful to aid your recovery," Aziraphale said.

Crowley raised his eyebrow as he looked between the two giant stuffed animals that took up most of his bed. One was a dolphin that was practically life-sized, and the other was an enormous duck, just like the ones they always fed down at St. James.

Aziraphale plopped down on the bed beside the duck, patting its head. "Well?"

Crowley looked between the gifts again and then back at the angel, still a little skeptical.

"You're insane," he croaked.

Aziraphale made a face at him and stood up again, patting the duck. "Well, when you're feeling better, we can go for walks in St. James to feed the ducks again. Until then…this will just have to do." He smiled.

Crowley smiled back and nodded. Aziraphale let out a silent sigh of relief that his friend seemed to be recovering.

Later when he came back to check on him, Crowley was fast asleep, smooshed between the two stuffed animals with his arms wrapped around them. Aziraphale smiled and tip-toed out, glad that his friend was going to be okay.


End file.
